"You would open the door like that? Hah! I thought you too vain for such a spectacle."
"Then you thought wrong. A moment please. Mow this could be amusing."
Marguerite stood up so quickly that her vision began to blacken. She raced across the drawing room into the foyer, then pressed herself against the wall beside the entrance. There was no time flee any farther. The door to the salon had creaked open, and she could hear Donskoy calling out from within.
"Why Jacqueline," he cried, between bouts of mirth, "you've literally lost your mind. Come back here and set things right. I choose the one you harvested last month-my expensive imported gift."
Marguerite shivered. She could only guess at the perverse game Jacqueline and Donskoy were playing, but her mind had conjured an unbelievable image- one she could not dispel. Surely she was wrong.
A long pause ensued. Marguerite could hear someone stirring in the drawing room, but no one spoke. She dared not move.
Then Donskoy called out again. "Jacqueline? Are you all right?"
"No one," came Jacqueline's disappointed reply. She was still in the drawing room. "Pity," she said. "I should have liked to see the reaction." Her voice began to fade. "So this is the one you choose? The one I am wearing now?"
The salon door closed again, muffling Donskoy's reply. Marguerite peered around the corner. The room was empty. She drew in her breath, then crept back to her station at the keyhole.
Donskoy and Jacqueline were both laughing.
Jacqueline cooed, "Are you sure? It could be very interesting without."
"Perhaps," Donskoy replied. "But I would miss your tips."
"Mmmm. No doubt."
"Without lips you have no voice."
"Why Milos," cooed the temptress, her words dripping with honey. "So often you scold me for excessive chattering."
"I do not wish you to speak/
"What then?" asked Jacqueline coyly. She paused, then laughed darkly. "Ah, I believe I understand. Shall I cry out then, Milos, cry out like some weak wench desperate to summon the castle guard? No one would come, of course. Even if your men were here, even if Ekhart did not think me some recurrent rash, I coutd scream and scream, and no one would come."
"Yes," said Donskoy simply, as if ordering a biscuit for breakfast "I'd tike very much to hear you scream."
Marguerite's face went white. Ashamed and repulsed, she fled from the chamber and raced up the stairs, desperate to escape the perversions of her husband's salon.
She found the door to her chamber hanging open, and Zosia sitting in the chair by the fire. Griezeltbub squatted upon her bed. Both the old woman and her toad turned to stare at Marguerite, one with eyes that were dark and sparkling, the other with immense yellow orbs.
"Curiosity satisfied?" Zosia chuckled.
Marguerite ignored the question. "Why in the name of the gods are you here?" she asked hoarsely.
"For the test," replied the old woman. She rose, bringing forth a chamber pot.
"The test?" exclaimed Marguerite. "But you always come in the morning."
"Mot for this," said the old woman. "This test will be special. And it must be done now."
She handed Marguerite the pot. Marguerite sighed, returning the container when she had finished. By now, this strange event was almost commonplace. More than a week had passed since Marguerite drank the potion, and two tests had occurred since then. Both had confirmed she was not with child.
"Why is this test so special?" Marguerite asked.
Zosia turned and walked toward the door. "Because when I am finished, it will show you carry a son."
Marguerite gasped. "But is it true?"
Zosia shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no, but either way it will be true soon enough. And for your sake, Donskoy must believe it is true now."
"But if I don't conceive-"
"You will," said Zosia. "I have seen it. But first, we must calm Lord Donskoy. He grows too anxious, and an anxious man fathers a nervous child."
Marguerite was too bewildered to protest. Then she thought of Donskoy down below with Jacqueline. Perhaps Zosia knew best.
The old woman motioned to Griezell, who leaped from the bed and shambled to the door. Then both the toad and the old woman departed.
Marguerite sat down at the edge of her bed. For a moment, she was quiet. Then she pressed a pillow to her face and screamed. And in the castle below, within the red walls of Donskoy's salon, another scream echoed her own.
FIFTEEN
Marguerite lay in her bed, drifting uneasily toward sleep. She wondered whether Zosia had showed her husband the results of the doctored test. Night had fallen hours ago, but Donskoy might still be preoccupied with Jacqueline Montarri, barring visitors from his salon. Even for such a momentous announcement, Zosia would wait.
From outside came a noise that brought Marguerite upright in an instant. She sat inside her bed curtains, listening. The sound came again: a long, peculiar wait, resembling the eerie moan of a wounded cow. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose like tiny quiils.
For a moment, Marguerite hid behind the walls of her velvet tomb. Then came the familiar crunching of wheels on gravel and the anxious, muffled whining of Ekhart's hellish pack. Marguerite climbed out of bed and went to her window. She parted the shutters only slightly, afraid that the light of her hearth would draw the gaze of someone outside-as if it were her actions that should be hidden under cover of night.
She needn't have worried. Earlier the clouds had opened themselves and drenched the land, Now the sky was almost clear, the moon full and bright. Its pale yellow glow readily overpowered the feeble light from her window.
Marguerite squinted, studying the scene below. She failed to see a tortured cow, but she really hadn't expected one; the sound that drew her from bed had not seemed natural. Ekhart stood beside his wagon, holding a lantern aloft. Three black shapes crouched in the back-the hounds, readied for the hunt. Beside them lay a long black crate.
Ljubo stood in the clearing beyond, facing away from the castle. He waved his lantern back and forth, as though signaling. He appeared to be waiting for something-someone. The associates? Jacqueline? The dark-haired woman had mentioned an excursion in the drawing room. But wouid she and Donskoy's men go out in the dead of night? Marguerite sniffed and shook her head, answering her own question. When else? The night suited this crew quite well.
A slender woman astride a dark horse appeared from the direction of the stables, then turned her high-spirited mount in a sharp circle. Doubtlessly it was Jacqueline. She wore black leggings and tunic, like a man, though her silhouette remained decidedly feminine. Lord Donskoy came next, pulling his mount alongside Montarri's. He raised a black, shining object to his lips, a crescent-shaped horn, and the peculiar wail sounded once more.
After several moments, a rider emerged from the forest that ringed the clearing and approached the castle. One by one, a dozen men followed suit, streaming out of the wood. They were Donskoy's associates, clad in black. Among them, Marguerite spied two guests she recognized from the wedding feast, a man with a humped back and another with only one arm. They each brought a hound or two of their own. Ljubo greeted the newcomers with a nod, then shambled to the wagon and climbed up beside Ekhart.
With the party fully assembled, Donskoy's loyal pair dimmed their lanterns. Ekhart raised a whip. It arched through the air, then cracked sharply over the ponies' backs. The cart jerked forward and rumbled into motion. The riders fell in behind, in pairs. Following the mud-and-gravel track, the procession snaked across the clearing and slipped into the woods beyond.
Marguerite knew where they were headed: to the rim, where lost travelers were brought close by the currents in the mists. And this time, she could hardly convince herself that Donskoy's men were attempting a rescue.
At first, she had no intention of following. Her chamber was locked, and the secret passage in her wall had proved dangerous. Besides, what was it to her how her husband and his men entertained a guest?
Marguerite paced, a caged animal. The hounds in the tapestry watched as she passed back and forth. Without thinking, she made a holy sign in the air, mimicking a gesture she had often seen in Darkon, when the village priest found it necessary to enter a temple defiled by undead.
Moments later, she had donned her leggings and her traveling gear and was crouching before the tapestry. She triggered the moving stone, then followed the dank artery toward the adjacent chamber, silently mouthing a prayer to keep the mechanism working. To her relief, the secret door at the opposite end swung open, allowing her exit. When the door to the hallway groaned and screeched, she did not even flinch.